Cups
by trufflemores
Summary: Blaine tries to learn the Cups theme a la Pitch Perfect and Kurt slowly goes out of his mind as Blaine practices it all. week. long. as soon as he masters it. Fluff, fluff, fluff. Klaine. COMPLETE.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

It started out innocently enough.

"_I've got my ticket for the long way 'round. . . two bottle of whiskey for the way. And I sure would like some sweet company, and I'm leaving tomorrow, what d'ya say?"_

"Blaine?" Kurt called out, brow furrowed in confusion as he rounded the corner, lips twitching with amusement when Blaine almost fell out of his chair in his haste to turn around.

"Kurt!"

"What are you doing?"

"Oh. I was just …" Blaine picked up and set down the red solo cup that he was using with a single loud _pop,_ one of Kurt's eyebrows arching expectantly as he set his own bag aside, already reaching back to undo his work apron. "You know the, um. The Cups song?"

"Yes?" Kurt tossed the apron over the arm of the couch before resting his hip against one of the kitchen chairs. "What about it?"

"I thought, maybe, it would be fun to do the, uh." He clapped twice before patting the top of the cup three times, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. "It's a work-in-progress," he explained.

"Mmmhmm." Kurt leaned down to wrap his arms around Blaine's shoulders, squeezing once and asking, "I'm not really in the mood to cook tonight, is Thai okay?"

"Thai's perfect," Blaine agreed, tilting his head to kiss Kurt's cheek, and that was that – or so Kurt thought.

. o .

"_I've got my ticket for the long way 'round, two bottle of whiskey for the way!_"

To his credit, Blaine's coordination was improving steadily, even though he still managed to drop the cup every other time. Doing his best to project supportive boyfriend vibes(or, rather, indifferent fiancé vibes, given that Kurt wanted to focus on his magazine and not Blaine's latest fascination), Kurt winced when he heard the cup fall off the table yet again, calling over his shoulder without looking up from the magazine, "The tap comes before the clap, honey."

"Got it." Blaine hesitated on the next repetition, popping the cup against the table once before asking, "Is this okay?"

Kurt considered telling him that it was a little grating and he'd prefer it if Blaine took up a _quieter _habit, like knitting or cooking or making tiny origami swans, but he knew that relationships were about compromise and there were worse things to have to deal with.

"It's fine," he called out.

Blaine's relief was almost palpable as he resumed tapping away, minus lyrics, which Kurt supposed was _his _way of compromising.

. o .

Except somehow the Cups' routine was even _more _irritating without Blaine's voice to distract him.

By Wednesday, Kurt's nerves had already been thoroughly frayed after dealing with ratty high-end customers all day (including a group of four businessmen that had ordered coffees and nothing else, leaving him a humble two-dollar tip after yelling at him for the better part of an hour about how there wasn't enough cream or sugar in their drinks). He'd been looking forward to spending the night de-stressing with a _Downton Abbey _marathon, but as soon as he walked through the door, Blaine was there, tap-tap-tapping away while Artie and Sam argued about some videogame or another on the couch.

Blaine was the first to notice him, looking up when he heard the door slide open and beaming at the sight of him, exhausted though he was. "Kurt! Hey, I wasn't expecting you for another hour, I thought you worked until –"

"I work till seven on Wednesdays," Kurt reminded, sliding the door shut behind him and trying to ignore the twisting, jealous part of him that had wanted the loft to himself. He didn't have any right to _expect _it to be empty when Artie and Sam crashed there every other day, anyway, and it was just nerves, chafed after a long day at work.

"Oh." Blaine's hand dropped the cup back to the table with another loud _pop_, Kurt's fingers itching to toss it in the garbage as he did so. "Do you want any lasagna? I can heat it up for you."

"Later," Kurt said, waving a hand dismissively as he made a beeline for the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a firm click. If nothing else, a hot shower would make him feel better.

It worked for about thirty seconds, thankfully hot water sluicing over his shoulders and easing some of the tension there. He was starting to feel relaxed when he heard it: the familiar tap-tap-tapping just beyond the paper-thin walls, accompanied by Blaine's humming as he worked.

It was going to be a very, very long night.

. o .

Thankfully, Blaine's _Cups_ routine was entirely absent on Thursday. He'd chosen to meet up with Sam and Mercedes for a movie night at their place, leaving Kurt to his own devices (_at last, _he thought, a little guilty at his relief).

On Friday night he slept over, and by Saturday morning, Kurt staged an intervention.

It was a little after seven and he could already hear the first hummed notes from underneath his own pillow, accompanied by a soft chorus of: "_You're gonna miss me when I'm go-o-one, you're gonna miss me by my hair, you're gonna miss me everywhere, oh, you're sure gonna miss me when I'm – _hi."

Blaine had advanced from solo cups to plastic cups to _coffee mugs_, it seemed, apparently experimenting with the different sounds that they produced, but Kurt's nerves had already reached their limit and he knew the next step was yelling if he didn't make it stop. "Hi," he echoed, keeping his voice very pointedly polite as he set the cup down on the table, not wanting to alarm Blaine unnecessarily with his pre-coffee snark. "I'm going to tape all of your bow ties to the ceiling if you keep doing that," he said, very matter-of-fact.

To his relief, Blaine's only response was, "Done."

. o .

On Sunday, Blaine brought home apology-bagels from Kurt's favorite bakery, letting him steal a few bites of Blaine's cinnamon muffin as they dined in, feet tangled together on the couch as they sat at opposite ends.

"You know, you could have told me that you didn't like it," Blaine said carefully, nibbling on the last few bites of his muffin as he watched Kurt. He didn't seem unhappy by the circumstances, just surprised; Kurt couldn't blame him.

"I know," he agreed at last, shuffling his feet around more comfortably on the couch as he considered his response. "I guess I just didn't want to suppress your creativity."

"We're supposed to keep each other in check," Blaine reminded, nudging his foot against Kurt's calf.

Kurt hummed and knocked a knee against his in response. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, almost wryly.

Blaine rolled his eyes and leaned over to kiss him, squeaking when Kurt pulled him forward by looping his arms around his neck and laughing into Kurt's shoulder in response.

There would be other fights, of course, silly ones over laundry night and table-or-booth preferences and the best times to eat or sleep or take walks in the park, but Kurt always knew that he'd get through them because that was what they did best: made each other stronger while keeping each other in check.

. o .

It also didn't hurt that Blaine's atrocious early attempts at tiny origami swans the next week were actually sort of adorable.

Kurt kept three on his desk and let Blaine steal a slice of hischeesecake when he finally managed to make a perfect, white, tiny origami swan, grateful that he'd channeled his creative energy elsewhere.


End file.
